Harry Potter and the Legacy of Power
by Namila de Fleur
Summary: AU post GOF. Following his fourth year Harry is unexpectedly set on a path to discover his ancestry and to realise his full magical potential. In a hunt against time he and the poeple closest to him must make a stand against the rising darkness.HHr,RL...
1. Prologue

Prologue: Change

Author: Namila de Fleur

28.08

It was stirring, boiling right under the surface, here and there breaking free in uncontrolled bouts of magic. Silently, patiently it caressed ancient stones, places of lore, points of power. All over the British Isles and at ancient sights on the Continent magic was stirring. The Magical Ministries of Europe (MME) had long since given up on trying to prosecute all such uncontrolled feats of wizardry. Feverishly Unspeakables of various nations banded together to investigate, in hopes of finding a reason for the phenomenon while those who ought not to know were obliviated.

The public was unaware of the awakening power and neither muggle nor wizard folk noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Tension was coiling but the great mass of people had long since taken on the foolish habit of ignoring these subtle indicators of change. Therefore the slightly brighter gleam on the archaic Stones of Stonehenge, the inperceptible mists at Tintagel, Cornwall, the sudden growth of hedges in the Forbidden Forest or the even eerier play of shadows in some ancient ritual places on the Continent escaped their notice. That is to said most of them went oblivious, most of them but a few.

In the shadows of a cottage upon the Isle of Anglesey an elderly woman stood calmly gazing into the distance. Her grey eyes were unfocused, her face serene while dark green robes danced upon a breeze. A small tinkling sound accompanied each move of the witch's garment, emitting from a small glass ball upon her neck. In silence she let her senses spread, feeling the magic humming upon the breeze. The time was close. The Call would be issued soon. The Order was assembling. Turning to her side the old woman stroked the black plumage of her beloved raven. The bird gave a squawk of discomfort and ruffled his feathers. A small smile graced the crone's lips. "_You can feel it too, can't you, Mephisto? Change is upon us. The fighters are rising. The time for us to rise from the obscurity of time is nearly upon us…_"


	2. Haunting Dreams

Chapter 1: Haunting Dreams

Author: Namila de Fleur

28.09

" Kill the spare", a chilling voice ordered, echoing through the creepy graveyard.

A cloaked ,short form raised a wand, chanting the incantation of the one curse that had always been feared. Blinding green light filled the scene and a lifeless body crumbled to the cold floor.

At Number 4 Privet Drive blazing emerald eyes flashed open as Harry Potter shot up in his bed, clamping his teeth together to prevent himself from screaming. Sweat was running down the young man's forehead, tingling when passing the lightning bolt-shaped scar that was recognised throughout the wizarding world.

Harry's eyes were unfocused as he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, once again having to deal with the scene of the graveyard that haunted him night after night. Wormtail raising his wand. A short chant. Green light. Cedric's lifeless body crumbling to the floor. Another death because of him. If he hadn't asked the second Hogwarts' champion in the Tri-wizard Tournament to grab the cup with him and share the victory, he would...Cedric would still be alive and Voldemort might not have been resurrected.

Suddenly Harry's guilt turned to anger as he remembered Cornelius Fudge, current Minister of Magic, the fool who denied Voldemort's return. Thinking of the cowardly man the emerald eyed teenager gritted his teeth. Unbidden his journey down memory lain turned to the Weasleys and his godfather, Sirius Black, an escaped convict of Azkaban whom Harry knew was innocent of the crimes he was charged for. The teen hadn't heard from him since the Marauder had left to gather the "old crowd" as Dumbledore had asked him to. The young wizard had no clue as to whom the headmaster had referred to, but he was slowly beginning to fear that something had happened to his godfather.

Sighing the 14-year-old turned to face the calendar and tried to discern the date, the ink having been splotched by liquid at sometime or other, courtesy of his whale of a cousin. It was July 29th and his 15th birthday was coming up in two days. Glancing at his somewhat unsteady looking bedside table the young wizard found it no later than an hour after midnight and decided to try and get back to sleep.

Slipping into another dream, veils of mists started to uncoil around him, obscuring his vision while steadily growing denser. Waves of whispers began to rush his surroundings and Harry shivered as his senses screamed at him to attack. However, he could neither locate a source of danger, nor did he know where he was. His sense of orientation had been tipped off scale, leaving him confused and numb. The rush of the whispers steadily rose while the ribbons of fog began to gnaw at his…emerald robes? Suddenly a scream ripped through the dreamscape and…

...for the second time that night the young man with unruly hair awoke with a start, bathed in sweat. Another glance at the clock showed that about three hours had passed since he had last closed his eyes. Getting out from under the dump covers he rose from the slightly creaking bed, knowing he wouldn't get another wink of sleep that night.

The teen changed out of his pyjama pants and into his oversized hand-me-down clothes. Sitting down at his desk Harry proceeded to finish his assigned summer homework, adding the last touches to his unusually long potion essay on which he had done extra research just to spite Snape.

Due to a carefully phrased letter from Dumbledore the Dursleys had allowed him to have his school things in his room and didn't bother Harry as much as usual, even if they still insisted on assigning him certain chores, including cooking. The youth didn't exactly know what had made his despicable relatives obey, but he was certainly grateful for the lengths the Dursleys suddenly went to, to avoid him. Of course, the young wizard would have preferred to live with his godfather and leave his relatives forever, however, Sirius was on the run and the Dursleys' house still provided the best protection for him.

Dawn came slowly as the emerald eyed teen worked on his essays. Hedwig was still out on the hunt and Harry felt rather lonely without the presence of his only friend over the holidays. His nightmares weren't getting any less disturbing either, which was probably one of the reasons that the black haired wizard was rather exhausted during most of the day. On the other hand, his insomnia also seemed to come to his advantage since he had already read most of his books for the next year, which had been delivered by owl, due to the fact that it was supposedly too dangerous for him to visit Diagon Alley. Harry had been angry when a school owl had brought the letter from Dumbledore. It had told him in no unclear terms that he wasn't allowed to take more than ten steps out the front door, effectively imprisoning him at the Dursleys, a fact had Harry silently seething. That is, if he didn't feel remorse over Cedric's death and his unwise choices. Still the anger steadily boiled under the surface.

He had once again fought the most feared wizard last year and lived through it, but the people around him continued to treat him as if he had no means to protect himself. Still his temper wouldn't help the situation nor make his choices wiser in the future. Harry knew that but had a hard time fighting his growing irritation at the thought that Voldemort was alive once again, lurking in the shadows for now, bidding his time. He felt lost at the prospect of a second war. Sighing, the young wizard went back to his transfiguration essay, checking it over again.

An instance later he was staring at the parchment. What he had read made perfect sense to him but Harry was pretty sure that he had never heard or read about half of the things he had noted down. Furthermore, some part in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn't have learned this until at least the beginning of his seventh year. Confused, but also curious he was about to look over his other essays when his stomach growled rather loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the day before.

Deciding that the matter would have to wait the green eyed young man got up, making his way into the kitchen where his whale of a cousin was already occupying one half of the table while his uncle took up the other side, reading the morning paper. His aunt, Petunia, had just seated herself and was glaring at her nephew before turning to ignore him completely. Harry did likewise, quickly making himself a decent breakfast.

Fortunately that wasn't that much work since he only had to look after himself.

Quickly making some bacon and scrambled eggs, the young wizard escaped the kitchen with his plate to avoid hearing his monstrous cousin complain about how his diet was restricted to fruits. Back in his small room, he closed the door, quickly wolfing down his breakfast while silently snickering when Dudley's complaints reverberated in his mind. Harry wasn't really a fan of citrus fruits and for a fact neither was Hedwig. Another reason why he was rather grateful for the new arrangement with his relatives.

"I would much rather prefer strawberries.", he muttered to himself as he absentmindedly put down the plate on his nightstand before getting to his knees to open the loose floorboard which revealed his most precious belongings as well as a variation of goods sent by Mrs. Weasley. Still her bakery wasn't something to pass up. However, as Harry got up with a piece of pastry, moving to put it on the nightstand as well, he froze.

The plate where once the scrapes of his breakfast had set, now rested a delicious looking amount of fresh strawberries. Harry had to blink twice until his brain registered what had happened and he nearly lost his hold on the pastry. Just as he was about to inspect the mysteriously appeared berries further a noise at the window drew his attention.

Hedwig had returned. Momentarily forgetting the strange occurrence the black haired teen rushed to let his owl in. " Hello, girl. Did you enjoy your hunt?", he asked amiably and the owl hooted happily in response, before settling on her perch. Sticking her head under one of her snow-white wings she contently dozed off. Harry was once again left to contemplate not only his sudden knowledge in transfiguration but also the rather unusual appearance of strawberries where there had been nothing but scrapes a moment before, not that he did complain about it.

Sitting down on his bed the black haired teenager reached for one of the berries, finding them not to be an illusion but quite solid. Should he try one? Undecided, the boy-who-lived studied the fruits for quite a while, before scolding himself for his lack of courage and taking a tentative bite.

Nothing happened except for the fact that his taste buds told him that it was delicious. Letting loose the breath he hadn't known he had been holding Harry sank against the wall and relaxed. Delightfully he emptied the plate before he went back to brooding over the strange happenings.

By the time the hands on his clock reached noon the green eyed wizard was frustrated. He just couldn't figure it out and to add to it: The strawberries weren't the first strange occurrence since he had returned from Hogwarts. While he understood that his magic had been at work and what exactly it had done most of the times, he couldn't find an explanation for the fact that one couldn't simply conjure strawberries from scrapes by stating what he wanted. Things just didn't work that way.

At least that is what he had been told. On the other hand, Harry supposed that it may be another stage in his magical puberty which made itself shown by bouts of accidental magic. 'Hermione surely would have had an answer for me,' he contemplated somewhat wistfully, at the same time treasuring the thought of his bushy haired friend. During the last two weeks something had changed in his feelings toward the brilliant witch, but he had yet to analyse his new attachment to her.

Still deep in thought Harry was about to leave his room to go outside into the yard when it suddenly hit him. Nobody said that he had conjured the strawberries. After all he hadn't tried again. "I better get to the bottom of this", he decided, looking around his room for something he could test his hypothesis on. Finally he settled for transfiguring his quill into a needle. Staring at it he ordered the quill to change, jumping as it did nothing more than budge a few inches to the right.

"Strange", Harry muttered, but decided to try further. Closing his eyes he clearly imagined the sewing utensil while mentally going through the transfiguration process. About half way he lost his concentration and exhaled heavily, a sudden exhaustion settling into his body. Tentatively his eyes opened only to widen in disbelief. The needle had elongated to about three quarters of a quill's length. Impossible! The young wizard just stared, continuing to breathe heavily before falling into the chair standing next to the desk. Gradually he worked through his shock all the while contemplation the possible ramifications of this somewhat controlled bit of magic.

For a moment Harry contemplated writing to Dumbledore but something told him that he shouldn't tell yet, so the youth resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't find any answers for some time and instead decided to experiment with his new found talent a bit further.

When he finally stopped because the room had started to spin he hadn't made that much progress. Having stuck to the easy transfiguration the adolescent wizard now owned a quill length needle. Glancing at the clock after falling onto his uncomfortable bed, Harry's eyes widened. The hands stated that it was time for dinner and that he had missed lunch. Why hadn't his relatives called him?

"That's a rather stupid question", Harry admonished himself, getting up to let a fretting Hedwig out the window. She hadn't had much to do since the beginning of the holidays. Dumbledore had ordered the three friends to keep the letter exchange at an absolute minimum. At best they should only owl in the case of an emergency. With practically no contact with his friends Harry had even more time on his hands to think about what had happened the previous year. Letting the cold breeze sweep through his hair and breathing the cool air that swept in, the teen willed his stressed mind to relax, only to violently shake his head when Hermione once again entered his thoughts. He just didn't understand why he thought about her whenever he wished to have some comfort. "She is your best friend and she makes you feel safe", he often told himself and decided that it was due to the fact that she had been the only one who had believed him during his the Triwizard Tournament. Still deep down he severely doubted his own words, the witch's loyalty during the previous school year wasn't the real reason why he thought of her as often as he did.

Breaking the chain of thoughts the raven haired teen circled his shoulders to get some of the stiffness out before he turned back to the bare walls of his room. Suddenly somewhat depressed the green eyed wizard sat down at his desk again.

For another hour he noted down what he had discovered that day and finally decided to brave the Dursley's to prepare his dinner. Imagining a simple chicken with rice in front of his mind eye he felt a sudden urge to say the incantation, but lost focus the next instance. Sighing at the fleeting moment of insight into magic, he rubbed his temples trying to animate his tired mind. How he wished to recapture the moment to find some answers. In the end he went for a sandwich from the kitchen.

Feeling really exhausted the boy-who-lived quickly ate before readying himself for bed. He was asleep the instance his head hit the pillow…

Harry found himself in a dark alleyway where shadows danced along the walls of the houses aligning the small street. A strong wind seemed to sweep through it since an old newspaper lying on the dirty ground took flight, promptly passing through Harry which told the young wizard that his body was still at Privet Drive. But what was he doing in this alley? Where was he even? Curiosity getting the better of him, the emerald eyed wizard decided to find out, noiselessly walking to the end of the small alleyway.

Finally coming to a corner Harry saw the shine of streetlights illuminate just the first few feet into the street. Raising his eyes to the plate fixed to the wall on his right Harry found himself in "Filius Alley". No more than a few feet from the Leaky Cauldron, as his mind informed him. What was he doing here? He asked himself once again, suddenly tensing when he couldn't hear the rustling of the wind anymore.

It was silent. Completely silent. Too silent for Harry's liking. Not knowing what to do the young wizard stepped out of the dark alleyway, looking left and right for somebody coming down the deserted street, his ears straining to hear something, anything. Nothing. It was as if all life had been sucked from the street. Dread rising in him the green eyed wizard quickly ran down the street and to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. For a minute he tried to grasp the doorknob but his hand passed through. Staring at the door for a moment he finally tried to stick his hand through the portal to the wizarding world which he fortunately was able to do. Quickly stepping into the sparsely lit bar Harry looked around.

But he found nobody in the room expect a few suspicious looking figures in a far corner. For an instance he had the urge to hide before he remembered that they could neither hear nor see him. Straightening up the young wizard contemplated if he had fallen into this dream to overhear the conversation of these strange customers but his senses told him that they discussed a trivial matter. His instinct urged him to go to the back door and further into Diagon Alley.

Once again easily stepping through the barrier the teenage wizard found himself in the deserted shopping street of Britain's magical population. "Only Gringotts and the public entrance of the ministry are open to visitors at all hours", Harry reminded himself while he walked down the empty street. A cold shiver ran down his back as he again didn't hear any noises.

The alley lay in total silence, the only thing that moved were the shadows and the dreaming youth could swear that some resembled black sweeping cloaks and bizarre faces. "That is ridiculous.", he scolded himself but was shown to trust his senses only moments later as he neared the entrance of the Ministry of Magic.

The dream wanderer froze in his step as he saw a group of cloaked and masked shadows assemble next to floating nightmares that let his heart freeze, reminding him of a flash of green light and the desperate voice of his mother. Dementors and Death Eaters. They would attack and the young wizard knew the instance he saw them that he wouldn't be able to do much more than watch the ministry's downfall.

A flash of Mr. Weasley sitting behind his desk doing paper work passed by his mind and Harry turned his gaze to the ministry building in horror. He had to do something. There had to be something he could do. Determined that he would bring Mr. Weasley out alive the emerald eyed teen raced into the building, not noticing the breeze sweeping through the rows of the assembling group as he passed. Hallways blurred and seemingly accommodated themselves to guide the boy-who-lived faster to his destination.

On his way he didn't pass a soul and hoped that most of the ministry officials were at home at that time of night because he didn't have much time. As the young wizard raced through the halls he frantically tried to form a plan that could help him alarm Ron's father and the rest of the ministry, but nothing really came to mind except a persisting little voice that told him that the attack wasn't imminent. The green eyed youth turned a deaf ear. Racing on, his steps noiseless in the halls Harry finally turned, ending in front of a great oaken door. "Department for Misuse of Muggle artefacts", the golden sign on the right of the door stated and the raven haired dream wanderer slipped through quickly before stopping short.

The corridor was lit and bustling with activity. Witches and Wizards rushed from room to room. Some shouting orders, others making polite requests. The black haired teen's stomach knotted as he began to sprint down the long hallway, his fear for the clueless people in the department rising. "What can I do?", he asked himself desperately as he passed through the people, having given up trying to touch them since it was useless. The persistent little voice returned and was once again squashed. If this wasn't real, what was it then?

Finally after about a 3 minutes sprint the dreaming teenager came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, discovering Arthur Weasley's office to his left. Quickly jumping through the door the young wizard found his best friend's father calmly discussing a problem concerning a bewitched freezer wrecking havoc in the north of London with a middle aged witch. "Mr. Weasley.", the dreaming teenager tried to get the pairs attention but they made no indication of having heard him. An image of Death Eaters walking up the stairs leading to the entrance of the building flashed through his mind. Harry's body began to shake in tension as his mind fought to comprehend the last flash as well as the unusual situation.

His head snapped up, his eyes quickly scanning the room for something that could aid him here. Praying to alarm them to his presence and the approaching danger. Suddenly he froze, his gaze fixed on an issue of the Daily Prophet showing a jubilant Quidditch team in bright orange dresses on the cover. The Chaudley Chanons. However, it wasn't his friends favourite Quidditch team that had halted him in his tracks but the date at the top, framed by a ring of coffee. January, 3 of the next year.

Disbelieving eyes settled back on Mr. Weasley and his discussion partner, a middle aged witch adorned in lavender robes trimmed with gold. The young wizard was intrigued by her aristocratic features, encompassed by blonde shoulder length hair, and her aura of self-assurance. As he tried to discern what the pair was discussing, the room began to spin, plunging Harry into a whirl of colours before he exited the scene like a pensieve memory...

Iridescent emerald eyes snapped open in shock, a cry breaking from parched lips as pain flooded the teen's body. The young wizard shuddered in agony until a comforting feeling washed over him and his exhausted mind and body was finally granted sleep for the night.

At about 9 am Harry's still tired senses were penetrated by a pounding on the door. His aunt wanted him to make breakfast seemingly having forgotten about Dumbledore's letter. However, the young wizard couldn't bring himself to get up, until Hedwig gave an indignant and distressed hoot. Drowsily opening his eyes Harry found his vision blurry where it had been perfectly clear in his dream. Groaning he tried to lift his arm only to hiss in pain laying still for another moment.

The pounding of his aunt came again and Harry decided to answer first before trying to move the rest of his body. "I..", he croaked, his throat parched. Swallowing the green eyed wizard tried again, this time succeeding in telling his dreaded aunt that he was sick and wouldn't want to spread it. His aunt gave an exasperated sigh at that but left nonetheless, grumbling about ungrateful nephews endangering her dear Dudders. Meanwhile Harry tried to lift his right arm again and found it less agonising, but painful nonetheless. As the young wizard then tried to find his nightstand and ultimately his glasses he found it odd to only be grasping at thin air and a yellow gold shimmering further obscuring his already blurry gaze.

Coming to the conclusion that something was out of place the young wizard slowly lifted himself into a sitting position gradually animating every of his screaming muscles. As he then slowly looked around himself it confused him when he encountered the blurry image of the top of his wardrobe at eye height instead of at least four foot above his head. His still befuddled mind deciding to just call his glasses to asses his current position. Harry muttered an "Accio", absentmindedly setting them on the bridge of his nose when they soared into his hand without protest..

Closing his eyes for a moment before letting them focus at what he guessed to be the top of the wardrobe, the teen wizard completely missed the supposedly impossible feat of magic he had just performed. Instead he stared dumbly at the dusty top of his wardrobe.

Dazedly the black haired wizard turned his gaze downwards, only to find the floor farther away then expected. "Woah", Harry exclaimed becoming aware of the fact that he was hovering about a feet above his bed. Just as he considered his situation and possible outs, his uncle began to pound on the door. "Get your lazy butt into the kitchen.", he demanded which caused the young wizard to tumble onto the bed, causing him to cry out in renewed pain.

His uncle didn't seem to believe that he was sick and ordered him to better be down soon or it would result in quite an amount of chores. Harry knew that he probably wouldn't survive a day full of Dursley chores in the state his body was currently in. Further he found it rather disturbing that his limbs seemed to be protesting painfully at every move he made, when he couldn't explain what the cause for his severely bruised state was. Groaning and grunting he carefully lifted himself of the bed. After he was sure that his feet would hold his weight with out assistance of the nightstand the teen went to open the door, his hand having to grasp the doorknob twice before being able to open it. His enraged whale of an uncle immediately chunked him out the door and dragged him down the whole way to the kitchen, causing quite a few sharp intakes of breath from Harry who believed his body would be ripped apart any moment. While he stifled his moans of agony, Vernon cursed violently at his insolence.

Finally he was pushed into the kitchen and ordered to prepare breakfast. Not wanting to raise the ire of his uncle further, and not daring to bring Dumbledore and their supposed promise to him into it, he ordered himself to shut out the pain and flexed his sore hands for a few times before beginning to cut the grapes with shaking fingers.

After what seemed like a much longer span of time than usual Harry dragged himself back up the stairs and to his bed. With his head hitting the pillow the young wizard's mind hit oblivion for the next few hours, forgetting what had occurred when he had woken up.

When the black haired teen finally opened his eyes again the sun was already setting and the pain in his body was thankfully receding to a severe case of soreness. Glancing at the clock the green eyed teen found that his birthday was no more than a few hours away. Somewhat refreshed the emerald eyed teen stretched, deciding that his body needed physical engagement and got up. Having changed Harry slowly walked over to the window where he surprisingly found three owls waiting for him. One he recognised as Errol who was lounging against the glass while the others where a tawny and a horned owl he didn't know.

Letting the two patiently waiting owls fly in Harry, careful of his still aching body, lifted the pitiful Errol and bedded him on an old cushion he found in one of the back corners of his wardrobe. The owl seemed grateful while Hedwig gave a disapproving hoot. Having left their cargo on Harry's bed the other two owls quickly took off again. The young wizard looked after them before turning back to retrieve the letter Errol had carried. It was rather crumpled but he opened it nonetheless.

Ron, in his untidy and obviously excited script, told him that he had met up with Lavender Brown over the summer and was really enjoying her company. Harry was surprised at the interest his friend seemed to show in the gossipy Gryffindor, as he had thought that Ron had a crush on Hermione.

He decided to ask him about it later and was confused at the slight feeling of relief that came over him with the knowledge that Ron seemingly didn't like Hermione as more than a friend.

Ignoring these thoughts the boy-who-lived walked over to his bed after giving some treats to the old Weasley owl. One of the other owls had delivered the Daily Prophet which he had subscribed at the beginning of the holidays. Deciding to read the wizard newspaper later Harry took up the letter that had been delivered by the third owl. He felt joy and nervousness washed over him as he saw his address written in Hermione's neat script.

Reading through her letter slowly Harry's eyes began to widen. A small wizarding community had been attacked, although Hermione told him that Fudge vehemently denied that it had been a Death Eater attack, she in asked him to be careful. The Minister seemingly refused to acknowledge the Dark Lord's return even more vehemently now which had his bushy haired friend in a rant on 'spineless, stupid politicians'. Harry chuckled at Hermione's antics but sobered quickly as she went on to list the casualties. Over 25 people had died in the battle and many still had to fight for their lives at St. Mungos. The public demanded an explanation but Cornelius Fudge spun tall tales while desperately grasping on to the fringes of his denial. However, Harry knew that he would soon crumble under the pressure Dumbledore and the public were sure to issue. The magical world had to be made aware of Voldemort's return only then could they start to take precautions.

Hermione further wrote that there would probably be a vote of no confidence soon. Harry hoped for it, his spirits rising considerably, while he read on about his best friend telling him that she had cancelled the visit to Bulgaria because of the attack and the fact that she was interested in somebody else than Victor.

As the young wizard came to that bit he immediately asked himself who could have caught Hermione's interest before he scolded himself. That wasn't really any of his business. Still his curiosity was sparked even further as his best friend ended the letter with "Love, Hermione" instead of her normal ending of "Yours, Hermione". His heart beat quickened for a moment before the young wizard told himself that it was ridiculous and that Hermione was his best friend after all! Sighing he put the letter down on his desk remembering that his best friend would be on a plane for a two week trip in the States by now.

For the rest of the evening Hermione spooked through his thoughts. When the clock neared midnight the green eyed wizard was once again, contemplating the strange occurrences of the last two days not expecting that his life would become even odder in a few minutes. Over and over he mulled the strange vision of the ministry last night, branding every aspect into his memory. What did it mean? 'What am I supposed to do?', Harry questioned himself over and over.

As the clock stroke midnight his eyes began to droop. Suddenly the image of a terrified Mrs. Figg ghosted through his tired mind, a scream of pure fright reverberating in Harry's head. Instantly the teen was fully aware, confusion and panic warring within. As he stood, for a moment paralysed, a flash of light lit the room, leaving behind an ornate vault key which hovered in mid-air. Out of pure instinct Harry grasped onto it and vanished from Number 4 Privet Drive; leaving behind a small bedroom devoid of any personal possessions...

A/N: Finally. I'm finally back to writing. Thanks for everyone who reviews. I welcome constructive feedback or the pointing out of mistakes in the context. I would also like to point out that this story won't be updated every week but in fairly regular intervals. Any parallels you any find to the story

'Harry Potter and the Heir of Five" by aqualaria is intentional as this is on some remote level a rewrite of my earlier story.

Namila de Fleur

I'm searching for a beta-reader. Anyone interested mail me: Ashleysanterayahoo.de

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters of Harry Potter. They all belong to Joanne K. Rowling and the various companies which possess publishing rights.


	3. The Griffin's Trial

Chapter 2: The Griffin's Trial

…Stumbling, Harry crashed into a carefully manicured rose bush. Wincing, as the thorns ripped his clothes he silently cursed at the abrupt landing. Regaining his balance he fought to clear his head. It seemed like he hadn't travelled far. His hated relatives' house was clearly visible some 4 hundred feet away on the opposite side of the street. Looking down he studied the golden key in his hand before tugging it away in his pant pocket. Suddenly something made his hackles rise. His head whipping back up. Alert, the youth scanned the row of houses. There was a definite tension in the air. Slowly, he crouched down behind the rose bush again. Straining his senses the teen tried to discern what had alarmed him. In a flash he saw Mrs. Figg pressed into one corner of her bedroom clutching her wand, looking terrified.

In an instance his eyes jumped to the house of his sometime babysitter. Nothing seemed out of place, but Harry could practically feel the magic permeating the air. _Silencing barrier, anti-apparation; anti-portkey wards, five magical signatures_; whispered a small voice in the back of the youth's mind. The young wizard didn't contemplate the unusual knowledge but stealthily crept up to the front door, drawing his wand from his sleeve. Silently he thanked himself for always keeping it on him since the happenings of the Triwizard Tournament. "Constant Vigilance," the fake Moody's voice boomed in his head.

Harry ignored it. Anger could prove fatal now. Finding the door open he swiftly entered the entrance hall. Inside total darkness reigned. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Silence rang in the air. Harry tensed, his stomach tying into knots. The tension was nearly oppressive now. Ascending the stairs, the young wizard froze as he stepped on what he knew to be a creaky stair. No sound escaped the wood. Breathing a silent sigh of relief he crept on to the first floor. A column of light sliced through the dark from the half open bedroom door. Still no noise disturbed the eerie silence.

The young wizard gave himself over to his instincts. Melting into the shadows his emerald green eyes froze over. The next few minutes only registered vaguely in the teen's mind. In an instance the bedroom door had burst, his feet carrying him into the room. In rapid succession he wove patterns into the air, his wand tip glowing a fiery red. Single-mindedly he approached his target, dodging spells purely on instinct. Adrenaline rushed in his ears. The crumpled and bleeding form of Mrs. Figg lay on the carpet. Harry neither registered the sudden return of sound nor the agonised cries of the Death Eaters, nor his own wounds as his left hand reached out to grasp onto the older woman's bloody wrist. His vision blurred. In a flash he found himself and Mrs. Figg whirling through space before being roughly disposed on a cold marble floor.

Trying to regain control over his body the teen fought himself to his knees. His head felt like it was filled with wool. His limbs wouldn't stop shaking and his heart was beating up a storm in his chest. Now and then his vision was dunked into darkness. He didn't feel good at all. A sigh escaped him as the nausea slowly settled and he opened his eyes again to inspect himself. Small gashes on his right bicep and right thigh respectively, a splitting headache and magical exhaustion. 'Sleep', was all his mind seemed to scream, but Harry ignored it while turning to face his sometime babysitter. Instantly panic set in as he encountered her broken form. Was she still alive? Would she survive if she was? Scooting closer careful of his own bruised body, Harry was somewhat relieved to discover that she was still breathing, if only raggedly. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know the first thing about healing. Even the blood clotting spell eluded him at the moment.

He was too tired, too exhausted to think, to help. But he couldn't let her die. Not another death. He couldn't deal. His throat constricted in frustration and despair as he hunched down helplessly beside the older woman. Blindly he stared at his useless hands. He was useless. He was a danger to everyone around him. Suddenly his overloaded magical senses jumpstarted themselves again. His head painfully whipped up to focus on the bloodied form before him again. Golden mist was hovering over the broken body before it sunk into the skin, tainting it a light bronze and seemingly freezing it in its current condition. 'A stasis spell,' Harry mused as relief overwhelmed him. The next moment darkness claimed him as he fell into healing oblivion. No nightmares would plague him for the next three days.

The golden tinted sceptre hovering behind the unconscious youth looked upon him with satisfaction. A true Gryffindor. Fixing his transparent eyes upon a carved golden cross in the middle of the marble entrance hall the ghost flipped a finger and a golden ball dropped into the floor. Seconds later a pop sounded beside him. An oddly shaped creature with floppy ears and saucer eyes stared adoringly at their master. "Bring the young man to the master bedroom, Corbis, and make sure that his guest is seen to," the unusual head of house ordered in an authoritative timbre. The house elf immediately went to work after giving an enthusiastic: "Yes, Master Griffin. Corby do as master wish."

With an exhausted sigh Hermione let herself fall onto the bed positioned right next to a somewhat antique locking night stand. The air in the small hotel room was musty and a bit stale, but at that particular moment in time the young witch couldn't conjure up the energy to trudge over to the window to open it. Staring at the little cracks running along the white paint of the ceiling she tried to relax her body. Jetlag sucked. After being cramped into an economy class plane seat for 10 odd hours and the subsequent 4 hours drive Hermione felt like she hadn't exercised her muscles in ages. Every movement required an unimaginable amount of energy. Still her mind wouldn't wind down, eagerly analysing the new impressions of the last few hours. Salem was beautiful from what she had seen so far and definitely magical. Her senses had been tingling since they had passed the town sign.

'_Harry, would have loved it here'_

A frown settled on the young witch's forehead at the random thought. Her heart fluttered. Immediately Hermione scolded herself. The crush she had on Harry was ridiculous. She had to get over it. Shifting in discomfort the brown haired teen tried to channel her thoughts into a different direction, but her feelings wouldn't be muted so quickly. '_Futile._' He was her best friend after all and would never see her as anything more than a friend. Still she sighed wistfully as she remembered her brash move on the platform at the end of the school year. She would have to be more careful.

Unbidden her thoughts wandered to the Dursleys. Concern settled in. Hermione knew that Cedric's death was still weighing heavily on Harry's mind. The fact that he was practically completely isolated over the summer did nothing to soothe her inner turmoil over the fact. How she wished she could be there for him. Those despicable people. Sometimes the teen witch seriously questioned the logic behind Harry's residence at the Dursleys'.

As had been the case for most of the summer, anger rose in her. She wished that he could have come with her and her parents to Salem. Dumbledore had, however, adamantly refused Hermione's request. With a somewhat defeated sign the young woman returned her attention to the book on Advanced Transfiguration lying next to her head. It held little appeal for her at the moment. Only another indicator for the brilliant witch that her feelings for her best friend were growing deeper instead of abating. How she wished she could help him.

At the moment her hands were bound, but a constant feeling of frustration boiled under the surface, urging her to take action. Silently vowing that she would have a word with the headmaster as soon as she returned ,Hermione roughly grabbed the tomb and determinedly immersed herself into the intricacies of human transfiguration. A few minutes later her eyes dropped and the young witch fell into an exhausted sleep.

Standing in the doorway Jane Granger watched mutely as her daughter fought to figure out her heart while valiantly trying to resist her body's demand for rest. Walking in to tug the teenager under the covers the elder woman carefully studied her daughter. She knew that Hermione's feelings ran much deeper for her best friend than even she realised. At the same time Jane Granger was afraid for her. She wasn't as ignorant to the current precarious situation in the magical world as she let Hermione believe. Doug and her had read of the events at the Triwizard Tournament and talked to Professor McGonagall. Furthermore, she had only her daughter's accounts of Harry to judge him on. She hoped she would meet the young man soon.

Smoothing the slight frown from the sleeping witch's brow the mother turned to leave the room. Maybe the two weeks of vacation would help her daughter to relax somewhat, giving her a chance to figure some things out. Silently closing the door Mrs. Granger returned to her husband in the next room.

The next morning the Grangers set out early to explore Salem's magical part. Following Hermione's precise directions they soon found themselves in front of the witch museum. The young woman in the back seat was squirming with excitement at the prospect of exploring the American wizarding world. The two elder Grangers smiled at their daughter's enthusiasm as they exited the car. They were just as curious as Hermione to get a glimpse at the magical part of the city. Following the young witch they found themselves in a small, authentic looking gift shop attached to the museum.

Hermione had to smile at the cliché trinkets found on the dusty shelves in the appropriately sparsely lit store. The Grangers trailed behind their daughter somewhat lost as to where to go next. The gift shop was empty this early in the day. Still a perfect picture of a fairytale's evil witch was guarding the counter. Amused, the small family exchanged a smile before Hermione marched up to the disguised owner. Her senses were tingling. 'She is definitely a true witch,' the young woman concluded easily, her eyes scanning the shelves more closely as she approached the counter. Not all of the articles on display were fake and in the back of her mind Hermione asked herself what the Ministry would say about some of them landing in muggle hands.

Finally coming to a halt two feet before the owner she waited to catch the hideous looking 'witch's' attention. Not getting any reaction Hermione grew frustrated. In the end she boldly leaned toward the still form. A slight snoring noise greeted her and the young woman's eyes widened in surprise. 'She is sleeping with her eyes open,' she wondered amusedly, a soft chuckle escaping her.

"Is everything alright, Hermione?", her mother inquired at her daughter's sudden amusement. Turning to her parents with twinkling eyes the teen nodded. "Everything is fine, mother. I was just surprised?" Her father lifted a questioning eyebrow at that, but the young witch's attention had already shifted to a cracked, archaic looking mirror propped against the wall behind the counter. "Hermione…", Jane asked uncertainly. Her daughter smiled confidently before drawing her wand from her sleeve. In an instance the ancient looking shop keeper jumped from her seat behind the counter, a black wand arcing through the air. However, Hermione was quicker, a sharp '_Expelliarmus_' escaping her lips and striking the owner in the shoulder. Nimbly the young woman picked the black wand from the air, her eyes never leaving the slightly crouched form of her attacker. Behind her the Grangers gasped in surprise and fright at the sudden assault on their daughter.

A raspy chuckle escaped the old woman as she straightened. Hermione tensed, prepared for another attack, even if she was in possession of the other witch's wand. "Who are you?," the teen demanded, her voice kept level, as she assessed the situation. The crone silently regarded the young witch, her eyes piercing. Finally she gave a short nod. A thin smile stretched her dry lips. "I am the shopkeeper", came the obvious answer. Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'What kind of answer is that?', she thought angrily, but her face remained passive. She had been in enough sticky situations with Harry to know that it could be dangerous to give away any emotion.

Behind her she could feel her parents move nervously. "You wish to enter Veneficus Square, do you not, young witch?" Hermione was startled by the sudden question. After a moment she nodded hesitantly, still on edge from the unexpected attack. The shop keeper seeing that the young woman still hadn't relaxed, finally decided to take pity on her. Honestly, she was impressed that the teen had been so quick to react and so reluctant to trust. 'That good amount of suspicion and quick reflexes might serve that girl well some day.'

"My name is Ephrine, my dear", the crone finally admitted while she slowly shuffled back to her chair behind the counter. Making herself comfortable she turned back to the small family. 'The parents are obviously muggles,' Ephrine thought with amusement her eyes twinkling benevolent. Hermione felt the tension leave her body. The threat had passed.

Remembering her manners the young witch handed the wand back to the old woman. "Why did you attack?", Hermione nonetheless asked briskly. The shop owner chuckled again. "That was merely a reflex to the flare of your aura as you drew your wand, child."

'The flare of my aura?', the teen wondered silently. The crone's eyes glittered knowingly. "I'm an aura reader, child", she answered simply before raising her gnarled hand to point her wand at the damaged mirror behind her. Wordlessly drawing three circles into the air the crone stabbed at the portal. The next instance the reflecting glass grew watery. "Have fun in Veneficus Square, girl."

Turning back to face the front of the store the shopkeeper grew disinterested in the Granger family. The three vacationers stared dumbfounded at the strange scene that had just occurred. Suddenly Hermione straightened her shoulders and determinedly marched up to the magical mirror. Dipping a finger in the unusual glass she turned back to her parents with a confident smile. "Ready?"

Her parents shook their heads in bewilderment before smiling their consent. Facing the mirror again, Hermione chanced one last sideway glance at the other witch before stepping through the portal. It felt like plunging into cold wool. For a moment in time utter silence reigned. The next, the young woman was immersed in a chaos of noises and activity.

Taking a step to the side in the small alley that opened up into the big square from medieval times, Hermione waited for her parents to follow in her wake. Excitedly, she took in the hundreds of witches and wizards already meandering around the store fronts. In the very centre of Veneficus Square a stone dragon guarded four crystal eggs respectively glowing white, red, blue and green. The young woman was entranced, taking in the intricacies of the magical masterpiece.

As Jane and Doug finally stumbled into the small alley Hermione snapped out of her daze even more motivated to explore all she could. "Where to then?", her father asked lightly, slowly taking in his surroundings. So many things he saw whenever he entered the wizarding world taxed his sense of reality. That his daughter was part of this world sometimes seemed unreal to him, a barrier between them that he could never tear down and that grew thicker as the years passed. Dragons, magic, flying brooms, those were elements of imaginative fantasy stories, but not reality. Nonetheless Doug treasured every minute of joining his daughter in her world.

Hermione scanned the stores spanning the square once again, her eyes finally fixing onto a colourful sign saying: Birnherd Brockworth's Breakfast. Smiling at her parents she determinedly marched into the crowd. "Birnherd has one of the best breakfasts in the Northern American wizarding world. The store was founded in 1589 by Birnherd's mother, but at that time the ministry only allowed men to own property, thus she named it after her inept son. That gave her the liberty to manage the store herself, as Birnherd doted on her like a small child. Quickly the store made a name for itself and it became a tradition to secretly pass it on to daughters in the family who guarded the recipes for the breakfast creations with their life…" Jane and Doug had to suppress chuckles as they listened to their daughter reciting all the information she had garnered from the magical travel guide.

Screams of utter pain escaped three black cloaked men as their master held them under the Cruciatus curse. The Dark Lord Voldemort did not take failure lightly. In fact he was enraged not only at his servant's failure to obtain his nemesis, the Potter boy, but also at the wretched teen once again escaping him. Furthermore he somehow managed to block their link. Fuelling even more power into his spell the snakelike wizard waited for his anger to calm, the screams of agony balm on his twisted soul.

Suddenly a fourth cloaked form entered the dungeon-like room, bowing deeply while warily eying his cruciated colleagues. With a flick of the master's wrist the Death Eaters were released from their torture, painfully gasping for air. Glowing red eyes fixed on the new arrival. "Ambros, I truly hope you have better news for me than these failures," the order came out in half a hiss, half a whisper, chilling all four servants to the bones. Tensing his muscles in order to keep them from shaking, Ambros straightened to meet his master's eyes. "My Lord, the prisoner admitted to know where the object was hidden; but he is bound by a powerful secrecy spell which I have never heard of before…" Feeling Voldemort's ire rise again the fourth Death Eater quickly finished, "…but I have sent for a friend of mine who is an expert in ancient spells and for some time now wished to join you ranks, My Lord."

Ambros relaxed somewhat at his master's short nod of acceptance. "Very well. Bring this friend of yours here and we will see. I need the artefact before the old coot Dumbledore catches wind of its existence. Is that clear, Ambros?" The last of the order was stated severely, red eyes piercing the servant to the soul. Shuddering in fear the fourth Death Eater bowed deeply again and on his master's dismissing hand gesture swiftly swept out of the room. Just before he stepped over the threshold Voldemort called him again. Turning around fearfully he immediately crumbled to the ground under the Unforgivable curse. A few seconds later the feeling of pain at every nerve-end was lifted and he was truly dismissed. The cold words of the Dark Lord reverberating through the hall: "May this be your motivation to deliver better news next time, Ambros."

Harry awoke gradually, the layers of oblivion lifting slowly and painfully. His head was pounding. His every muscle aged. The harsh morning light falling in through the great windows burned his eyes. He still felt utterly exhausted. What had happened? For a moment no coherent thought seemed possible as he fought his body into a sitting position in the king-sized bed. His eyes seemed extremely sensitive, tearing at his attempts to take in his surprising surrounding. An audible sigh escaped the young wizard as the light in the room was suddenly dimmed. Slowly letting his eyes adjust Harry scanned the silken red-golden sheets that covered him, the heavy burgundy drapes now covering the grand windows, the lit fireplace, the three grand doors leading from the room and the marble floor, here and there covered by soft looking rags. Across from the bed a massive tapestry covered the wall, depicting a golden griffin surrounded by a whirlwind of fire.

The young wizard found the piece of art quite tacky, but he nonetheless appreciated the slight feeling of safety the Gryffindor guardian brought him. It bode well for his survival. Chuckling at the thought the teen uncomfortable readjusted his pillows in order to relief his arms from the task of holding his body weight. As his still burning eyes slid back to the fireplace he froze. A gasp escaped him. Encased in an elaborate frame an amused Grodic Gryffindor was staring back at him. For the first time Harry's thoughts focused enough for him to scramble for his wand which he found missing in his night apparel's sleeve. A soft 'pop' sounded. The youth jumped, his heart racing. The next moment his dark, holly wand was shoved under his nose. A pair of grey saucer eyes stared entreatingly at the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hesitantly taking the proffered wand, Harry relaxed, but his eyes never left the house-elf. Shyly the creature took a few steps from his new master, anxiously wringing its small hands. "Corby sorry, Sir Master. Corby only polish wand not steal. Corby no thief, Sir Master." The young wizard was startled by the sudden tirade, strongly reminded of Dobby. He was thankful for the fact that this house-elf didn't seem as inclined as his friend to punish himself. Relaxing completely and smiling softly the teen waited for the elf's eyes to meet his again. He waited in vain as 'Corby' intensely studied the sheets, his nervous movements becoming more erratic. "Corby," Harry finally croaked and the little head surged up, at full attention. Suppressing a chuckle the Gryffindor continued, " Thank you for returning my wand and taking care of it." The elf's eyes grew even bigger at the praise and before Harry could register what had happened he was squeezed in a tight hug. The next instance Corby mumbled something about clothes and breakfast disappearing with an energetic 'pop'. The young wizard was left behind, bewildered. Only belatedly an essential question fought itself free from his throat: "Where am I?"

In that instance raucous laughter exploded from the direction of the fireplace. The teen's eyes zoned in on the founder's portrait again, for a moment only staring stupidly. Then he snapped out of his trance. Anger at the great wizard's amusement over his predicament reared its head and his eyes narrowed. "What is so funny?," he ground out agitatedly in order to be appalled at his manners the next minute. Godric Gryffindor's replica only laughed harder. The youth sighed, miffed. Falling back into the soft pillows he tried to reconstruct the last day. A frown began to mar his brow as memories of the attack on Mrs. Figg returned. Was she alright? Where had the key come from? Where was he?

The magical painting noticing the lad's confused thoughts, calmed its laughter and tapped its gold frame determinedly. It wouldn't do to let the lad get too agitated with fear and worry? Those emotions could spell disaster.

Suddenly Harry's hackles rose, his magical senses screaming at him. In the corner of his eyes a golden hue gained in brilliance. Ignoring his protesting muscles the young wizard jumped into a naturally defensive stance, his wand aimed at the magical portrait above the fireplace. As the golden light grew more intense Harry had to cover his eyes. They were still sensitive. To his amazement, however, he was met with a myriad of different colours shaping the room behind his closed lids, the golden light here tainted burgundy and intense yellow. His head hurt. He couldn't escape. What was going on? Stifling a cry of pain the young wizard toppled off the bed, his magical senses abating somewhat. The colours in his mind's eye were doused a bit. Breathing a sigh of relief the teen slowly opened his eyes. Why were they so sensitive?

Facing the marble floor the young wizard still found his vision coalesced with colours. The mesh of visual perceptions was highly irritating and frightening. What was going on? Sinking against the bed Harry tried to calm down by taking deep breaths. Slowly his right hand came up to rub at his eyes. Again he froze. His glasses were missing.

From the other end of the bed he heard a regretful sigh. "Oh dear." Hearing the soothing timbre of the Hogwarts founder the youth closed his eyes. Once again the room remained colourfully imprinted in his mind as he carefully scrambled back onto the bed. He was exhausted. Feeling for the sheets he slid back into their warm cocoon. He had too many shocks for a morning and the distinct plot of white marring his 'colour vision' promised more. His head was pounding, overtaxed by the new senses. Suddenly a thick tendril of golden colour from white plot build a bridge to his temple. Harry was too exhausted to react. A cool energy flowed through his head and the pain lessened. His vision was black again. The young wizard felt relieved, a burden on his senses having been lifted. Now his curiosity won out. Opening his eyes once again the teen was met with the golden sceptre of Godric Gryffindor literally hovering at his bedside.

"I.am.dreaming," he ventured carefully. This was just surreal, even by his standards. The ghost chuckled. "Seems quite unreal, doesn't it, Harry?," Godric started, settling his transparent form on the bed. The young wizard only nodded silently, lost for words. "Unfortunately, I have quite a few more, how do you say, 'bombshells' for you today, but I think you should get dressed and settled for breakfast first." The grandfatherly tone of the great wizard surprised and soothed the youth. He didn't feel in anyway endangered. Slowly getting up again, mindful of his still sore muscles the young wizard stretched. With another 'pop' Corby returned, juggling a tablet with a hot British breakfast. Harry's mouth watered. He was famished, he realized. "Good morning, Corbis. Please set Harry's breakfast by the fireplace and help the lad select some appropriate clothing." Nodding his small head the house elf eagerly followed Godric's instruction. Popping to the antique table next to the fireplace he set the meal before disappearing again.

The young wizard followed the elf's movements avidly, thankful for the time to rearrange his thoughts. Turning back, he studied the golden sceptre. Godric Gryffindor was dressed in elaborate wizard robes, several orders adorning his left breast. A small goatee sprouted on his chin and upper lip. High cheekbones, thick eyebrows and a wild mop of hair gave him a somewhat unusually elegant but at the same time wild look. Sighing once again Harry decided to start his questioning. "´Where am I?"

The spirit gave an appreciative nod at the query. Getting up Godric floated over to where Corbis had placed the lad's dinner. "That is a question with an easy answer;" he commented amusedly, "You are at _Taigh Misneach_, which is Gaelic. Roughly translated it means as much as House of Courage. Since 756 A.D. this has been the ancestral seat of the Gryfen Family, my family." Harry nodded in understanding even though the answer didn't tell him much. The sceptre seemed to sense his need for more information. Just as he went to elaborate further Corbis popped in again. Eagerly the house elf assembled his selection of archaic black pants, a white linen shirt, socks, dragon hide boots and a comfortable looking wizard robe on the bed. Then he proudly turned to Harry, his chest buffing out and his floppy ears wiggling excitedly.

"Sir Master, change quickly. Corby choose good clothes only for Sir Master." Before the teen could thank him, Corbis was already gone again. "Quite amusing creatures those house elves. Do you not agree, Harry?" "Indeed," the young wizard acquiesced, a smile spanning his lips. For a moment ignoring the fact that a founder's spirit hovered in the room he quickly changed his clothes. Godric seemed to be momentarily distracted by the tacky griffin tapestry, anyway. After the teen shortly revelled in the fact that he wore clothes that fit him he walked over to his breakfast. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days. Happily he dug in. The meal was delicious.

Seeing the youth seated, the ghost took that as his cue to continue. "Very well then, Harry. We are in the south western part of Cornwall near what is today called Falmouth." The teen nodded, chewing silently. Suddenly a memory of Mrs. Fig just before they landed in the manor flashed before his mind eye. His old babysitter had been badly injured. Guilt flooded the Boy-Who-Lived. He stopped eating. Dear god, please let her have survived the night. What if she was dead? Like Cedric, another victim of the Dark Lord? Cold fear gripped the teen and he began to shake. Memories of the graveyard returned.

"Your companion is safe for now, lad." Haunted eyes snapped up to meet the Hogwarts founder's. The spectre was startled by the deep fear and guilt reflected back at him in those green orbs. Those eyes were much too old, too jaded for a man of 15 years. Settling a transparent hand on Harry's shoulder Godric channelled emotions of assurance, courage and sympathy into the lad. The haunted look slowly vanished, determination and righteous anger shining through. Smiling grandfatherly at the youth the spirit settled into a second armchair in front of the fireplace. "Keep eating, Harry. You need the meal. You haven't eaten in three days." Harry relaxed fully at those words. Mrs. Figg was safe for now. He trusted the ghost's word. He picked up his forks again. "Three days?," he croaked, shoving another piece of sausage in his mouth. Godric nodded in answer, then he chuckled. "Next question."

The eating wizard laughed hoarsely at that. The spectre grinned mischievously in return. Contemplating for a moment the teen tried to sort out his thoughts again. "Where did the key come from? Why did it come to me then?" "That is two question," Godric reprimanded with a mock stern face, laughing as Harry blushed. "Ah well. Valid questions, lad. Interesting indeed." The young wizard raised his eyebrows, but the spirit ignored him. "In order to explain properly you need to understand the intricacies of the Gryfen Family, the Potter Family and centuries of family tradition." Harry frowned at that. What did the Potters have to do with the Gryfen Family? What did he know of their traditions? Sensing the lad's confusion, the dead wizard turned to face the tacky tapestry hanging across from the bed. Harry followed his gaze, grimacing at the magical artifact.

"Findor, if you could please show young Harry the family tree of the Gryfen Family" Godric smiled mysteriously as the griffin bowed before being consumed by the whirlwind of fire. The flames turned into tiny, intricate writing. Golden threads flowed into letters, names, dates, titles, lines and symbols. Fascinated the youth continued to chew on his breakfast. Finally a miniature version of the griffin marched proudly over the tapestry before settling beside a golden name at the bottom, keeping guard. The sceptre turned back to Harry, mentioning for him to finish eating. The young wizard tore his eyes from the tapestry, his attention again settling on the spirit of the founder opposite him.

"Now the key that appeared yesterday has been passed down in the Potter Family for the last… ten generation or so. Always from father to son." 'Archaic," Harry involuntarily heard Hermione's voice echo in his mind. He had to chuckle at that. It gave him further comfort to hear her voice on this crazy morning. Godric merely raised an eyebrow at the lad's sudden mirth, continuing his explanation. "This was usually done on the eve of the son's fifteenth year. From then on the father would educate the son in the ways of the Head of the Family. The duties of the family head couldn't be passed down until the sixteenth year as long as a patriarch existed." The young wizard relaxed at that, dreading what the family duties would mean for him.

A glint of deep sympathy entered the dead wizard's orbs as he regarded the already heavily burdened teen. He truly was a magnet for bad karma, he concluded. "However, if the son or even the daughter was the last true heir to the Potter Line the transfer would be initiated on the first new moon following the passing of the fifteenth year" Harry stiffened at that. Why was it always him? He could see right where Godric's excursion into his family's traditions would lead. Great. Bloody brilliant. When was the stupid next new moon? Sighing he concentrated on the rest of the tale the Hogwarts founder had to tell. He couldn't change anything now anyway.

"The appearance of the key marks you as the family head of the Potter Line. This can not be that much of a surprise for you, I conclude." Harry nodded at the questioning eyebrow of the spirit. Slowly the teen settled his forks on the empty plate. Turning his transparent head he ghost studied the Gryfen family tree. Finally his unseeing eyes focused on the proudly positioned Findor at the bottom. "The patriarch of the Gryfen Family is elected through a more complex process. The heir is always one of the most direct bloodline of the family, but it doesn't necessarily have to be the first son or the second. Daughters are eligible as well. The choice of the family magic is made apparent by Findor settling next to the chosen name. Furthermore, the fifteenth years marks the coming of age like in medieval times. Finally the transfer or reinstitution of duties is characterised by an influx of family magic into the carrier of the title. This happens over the period of the two moon cycles following the first new moon after the passing of the fifteenth year."

Turning his attention back to the lad who was resignedly sitting in the second arm chair, Godric waited. A dreadful feeling of foreboding settled into Harry. An inkling of an outrageous idea formed in his mind and he prayed for once to be spared by the gods. Slowly rising from his seat, his steps heavy, he walked over to the tapestry. For a moment he stubbornly fixed his gaze on a name in the very centre of the pedigree: Godric Gryffindor. Finally the teen's eyes flowed down, following the brightest golden thread. A ball of anger at his fate settled in his stomach as Gryfen melted into Peligrade, Peligrade into Thyron and finally into the dreaded reality: Charlus Potter ( 1256-1327). In a tense trance his eyes swept further down. At the very bottom he encountered his parents' name. For a instance his vision blurred, more than ever feeling the loss of Lily and James. How he wished for their love and assurance in that very moment. Then predictably, irrevocably his own name stared back at him, Findor proudly positioned beside the glowing lettering. _Harry Potter ap Gryfen_. …

A/N: It is done. Ohoho! Enjoy and review, please. By the way, I'm still searching for a beta.

Namila de Fleur


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